Death pays for life
by Vader'sMistress
Summary: *GOT Crossover* MAJOR SPOILERS for 8x03. Only death can pay for life. Queen Mary I swore that she would do everything that it took to protect her people. When she took a big gamble to open her door to the Stark refugees, she never imagined that she'd play a bigger role against the unholy army of the undead and their leader.


There is beauty to be held in death. I was never scared of death. My sister on the other head, was cautious to a fault. Elizabeth I preferred to hide but not seek. Her sneaky behavior, using her subtleties as her weapons, courting my enemies to shield her from the big bad Catholic, is what's kept her alive during my reign.

The dead rose from their graves. They attacked us on mass. I gave the order to have everyone take refuge in the cellars. A few people decide not to listen. I did not hold it against them. Everyone who was willing to fight, was going to be allowed the chance to spend their last moments on earth, fighting the undead.

The Stark sisters were with us. Winterfell had fallen and with their brother cryptically telling me that this would be my chance to defend my people against an evil greater than any I had ever faced, I could not refuse.

It turns out that it not only turned out to be my chance to prove myself to a people who no longer believed in me, who saw in my sister as Winterfell had seen in Lady Sansa Stark, a leader worthier of the crown of St. Edward; it also turned out to be my last.

As that unholy creation by those demonic beings known as the Children of the Forest, advanced towards the crippled Stark, I clutched my large belly. Pregnant or not, I will not let the dead kill my greater children, my subjects, whom I swore to protect when I became their Queen.

Grabbing me by the neck, he smiled. No words, no taunts. Only a sardonic smile. "Truth is the daughter of time." I managed to say. Taking out the Valyrian steele dagger I inherited from my mother (who had inherited it from her father) from the sheath hidden underneath my coat, I plunge it into the spot that heretic priestess told me was his weak spot.

He says something in an unknown language, takes part of the dagger out of his chest and stabs me with in my swollen belly.

_**Sweet death, oh how I yearn for thee.**_ Were the first words I wrote when I was four. They were part of a long poem to impress my father. He was so happy that I had impressed the French ambassadors that he swung me in his arms and cried _"she's the brightest of all Christian princes!"_ For a moment, everyone had forgotten that I was a girl.

Arya Stark finishes the job for me. She plunges it deeper into his chest by plunging her own. Instantly he disintegrates and with him, his entire unholy army of ice demons.

Elizabeth, emerges from her hiding spot after she's told the coast is clear. "Sister," she tells me. Her concern for me is genuine. I wish I could speak to her freely but even in tese circumstances I can't. The chest plate armor that I had on did little to protect me and my baby.

Susan tells me that there is still a heartbeat. "There is a slim chance, he can be saved." Even when it is to comfort me, she is incapable of lying. I can see right through the deception.

"Tis alright Susan. It hurts no more. I can ..."

"Do not speak Mary. Please do not speak."

I do not listen. She needs to hear me say these last words before I find myself outside heaven's gate, ready to be judged by St. Peter. "... I can finally be at rest. My mother, she will be with me, next to grandparents, my brother, lady Salisbury, and my child ... Tell the people, their Queen died protecting her beloved children."

"I will." Susan promises. I can hear others crying.

"Do not let my sacrifice be in vain."

Everything becomes black after that.

**~o~**

There was no grand funeral. No wide mourning. The realm could barely believe what had happened. One Queen had died only to be replaced by another one. Those that survived could barely believe what had happened.

Mary I's sacrifice would not be forgotten. Her husband, now King of Spain after the tragic death of his father, the Emperor, Charles V, dared not return to his late wife's kingdom. Not after the way he treated and abandoned her and their unborn child.

Elizabeth I swore that she'd honor her sister's sacrifice by keeping her memory alive through her devotion and dedication to her people. Truth was the daughter of time. That had been Mary's mottot and indeed, time would tell if the new Queen kept her promise.


End file.
